rediff.com
rediff.com
News Find/Feedback/Site Index
      HOME | NEWS | COLUMNISTS | ASHWIN MAHESH
July 21, 2000

NEWSLINKS
US EDITION
COLUMNISTS
DIARY
SPECIALS
INTERVIEWS
CAPITAL BUZZ
REDIFF POLL
DEAR REDIFF
THE STATES
ELECTION 99
ELECTIONS
ARCHIVES

Search Rediff


Rediff Shopping
Shop & gift from thousands of products!
  Books     Music    
  Apparel   Jewellery
  Flowers   More..     

Safe Shopping

Ashwin Mahesh

Rites of Passage

E-Mail this column to a friend

I missed you so much, kanna. Did you miss me too?

When you are six years old, and have spent the last week and a half with grandparents who live hundreds of miles away, this isn't a multiple choice question. Did I miss you! You know, Patti is a wonderful cook, and Thatha is a genius with that crossword he pores over and is such an erudite man, we had the best time we could have hoped for. They're nice enough and obviously love us to death, but still, it's not the same thing. I guess they're older, which makes it just that bit harder for them to pick up after a couple of brats who are used to your wide hand of order that sweeps into their disheveled world with a comforting regularity. Where did you put my comic books?

I thought of you all the time, did you think of me?

Fifteen and off on weekend camping trips with the comrades; it's hard enough to remember the virtues of purity and truth. Fact is, whereas I could tell you precisely how far above the knee Pavitra's skirt ran, or how far below the belt Ramani ought to be kicked for the way he unerringly made the same measurements, I couldn't aver with any measure of honesty that I even thought of you. Maybe once, when the cook at this ding-bat joint we were holed up in brought out something that oddly resembled a potato in the throes of asphyxia, I might have wished he'd taken culinary lessons from you. Wait, there was also that other time when I wished I had more pocket money for the roll of tumble-weed that did the rounds after lights-out. Don't ever do dope, Ma, it has an awful after-taste.

I was so worried about you, that you wouldn't be able to manage for food, laundry, and all those little things. You boys never appreciate how much I've done for you, I hope you understand all that now. How's your health? Are you eating well? Do you eat meat?

Around this time of life, you get to vote and work odd jobs, which means that speaking your mind is no longer a luxury with the looming threat of reduced allowances attached to it. But what the hell, after years of lying to keep the money rolling, you've gotten good at this. Sure thing, Ma. The mutton-head at the hostel can't tell the front of his own face from his rear end, that's how disorganised the whole place is. Three toilets for 16 people, a bed that would turn you into the hunchback of Notre Dame in about three nights' time. The classes are gruelling, especially finance. I'm not sure what they mean by debit, but I think I have credit figured out just fine. We get to bike down by the beach and watch the stars at night and practice kissing and such, and I even rent my own house with money from the summer job. Is it still cohabitation if one person pays all the rent?

God, you must be totally out of sorts, being in a foreign country. I hope you are doing fine. I feel so lost, now that even talking with you has become so expensive. Will you be able to call much at all?

Not if we eat regularly. At least we have each other now, Ma. Besides, I don't really miss you that much, you know! By now, you have figured out that an air of dismissiveness lends a light-heartedness to the conversation. Haven't we been over this before? Of course, I think about you every full moon, I'm not that forgetful. School's a handful, anyhow, but I'm delighted I switched to being an astronomer. Do I recall how you encouraged me to take up undergrad research with that professor at the Astrophysics institute? Not particularly, but I guess you must have. We sure had fun with that big telescope in Kavalur. Funny how one thing leads to another, now you can tell your friends I'm seeing stars for a living.

I'm so excited that we're going to come and visit you, kanna. I've been counting the days to the time we leave. Are you excited too?

We'll see. I can't believe I said that! I'm hoping I can take some time off when you two are here and maybe we can go driving some place you would like to visit. I guess if you spend some time with me and some time with little brother and a couple of cousins, we ought to be able to do the full spectrum of Americana, and whatever you don't do this time, you can always do the next time around. I guess I am excited, I hadn't really thought much of it, to tell the truth. The job's a bit of a grind and who has the time to be excited about April 22 on March 14? Or is it the 16th today?

I can't believe it's already been a week since we're back. Time goes by so fast. I miss you both so much, kanna. Do you also miss me?

The thing about it is, I am getting older. It is getting to be about that time of life when I have to stand to be counted among the men of this world, bearing a responsible share of duty and the burden of progress and all that bunk. And I'm getting good at it too. Late nights with satellite data, romancing the computer, the works. The stories from a decade of academic stumbling and success are enough to keep most party conversations rolling and every once in a while, something new happens to add to the reservoir of tales from a lifetime of looking ahead to better things.

But the truth is also this, that more often that not, I stop to remember a different time, when I was content to roll in sand-pits and accumulate the world's dirt instead of its learning. A time when dinner was at 7:30 and bedtime was at 10. When straight A's on the exams meant that you'd come over to tousle my hair with pride, and the B's brought on an endless litany of the perils of failure. The times we learned poetry together for some forgotten recital, the times we would sit outside on the verandah during power outages and watch the world go by. The time I had surgery and refused to go to class with that awful plaster. The time I walked away from you at the airport while you were still laughing over some small joke, because I couldn't bear to say goodbye without a smile. Stuff like that.

Everyday.

Ashwin Mahesh

Tell us what you think of this column
HOME | NEWS | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | INFOTECH | TRAVEL
SINGLES | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | HOTEL RESERVATIONS | MONEY
EDUCATION | PERSONAL HOMEPAGES | FREE EMAIL | FEEDBACK